


Wakefield, S01E01 - The Promotion

by Addison_Caine



Series: Wakefield [1]
Category: Star Trek Online
Genre: Drake Stephenson, Gen, T'Las, Tarsi zh'Enis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addison_Caine/pseuds/Addison_Caine
Summary: The first episode of my USS Wakefield "Star Trek" fan-fic series.  The plan is to write the story in an episodic format, with 6 episodes per "season", and each episode then plotted out in acts rather than chapters.The USS Wakefield is a Comet-class RSV on a combined diplomatic-scientific mission to strengthen ties within and between the major powers in the Alpha and Beta quadrants, whilst also compiling important information on interspecies relationships.Episode One of the first seasons details Commander Drake Stephenson and his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Tarsi zh'Enis, being promoted from to command of the Wakefield and given their mission, and assembling their crew.





	Wakefield, S01E01 - The Promotion

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unfinished work. It's 90% there but there's a little extra detail and description needed in a few areas. Feedback is greatly welcomed! I would also add that even though I'm writing Star Trek fan-fic I'm not a massive Trekkie and while I've done a lot of research there's a chance I've got details wrong or that some things just plain wouldn't happen that way in the Star Trek universe. If any hardcore Trekkies out there spot any errors I've made then please let me know!

# Episode 1 – The Promotion

##  Prologue

Day -4

Captain’s Log, stardate 96174.81.  This is Captain Drake Stephenson of the USS _Trent._ Upon completing our latest patrol of the Devron sector we have been contacted by Starfleet Command and ordered to return to Starbase-1.

Admiral Syva, of the Starfleet Office of Cultural Affairs, has requested a meeting with myself and my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Tarsi zh’Enis, to discuss our next mission.  The admiral’s communique was somewhat sparse on details, and Commander Tarsi and I find ourselves curious as to what Cultural Affairs wants with an old patrol vessel like the _Trent_.

Even more curious is that we have been scheduled for a four-day stopover at Starbase-1, rather than the standard 2-day for restocking and crew rotation.

##  Act I – the Promotion

Day -4

            Drake and Tarsi stood before the door to Adm. Syva’s office, in their formal service uniforms and looking every part the successful young Starfleet officers they were, but feeling more like nervous schoolchildren summoned by their principal.

            “It’ll be fine,” said Drake, smiling at his second.  She gave a slight smile in response.

            “I’d believe you more if it didn’t sound like you were still trying to convince yourself.”  Drake barked a sardonic laugh, then took a steadying breath before reaching out to tap the office’s intercom button.  There was a faint electronic buzz and a half-second pause before the admiral’s voice came through.

            “Enter.”  The door slid open and the two officers straightened their backs, squared their shoulders, and walked purposefully into Syva’s office, moving to within the two regulation paces of the admiral’s steel-and-glass desk before standing to attention and saluting. 

            “Sir, Cdr Stephenson and Lt Cdr Tarsi reporting as requested.”  Admiral Syva returned their salutes and smiled politely at them both before gesturing to the chairs across from him. 

            “At ease, and please take a seat.  Admiral T’Las will be joining us shortly and sends her apologies for the delay.  I gather her meeting with Ambassador Gra has overrun.”

            “Thank you, sir.  T’Las, sir?” Drake did not hide his surprise at the name as he and Tarsi sat down.

            “You know her, Commander?”

            “Only by reputation, sir.  Romulan freedom fighter turned Republic officer, played a key role in establishing the Republic’s homeworld on New Romulus.  She's pretty famous, sir.”

            “I suppose she is,” agreed the Vulcan, nodding slightly.  “I – that is, myself and my fellow flag officers on the board of the Starfleet Office of Cultural Affairs – have been in discussions with the Romulan Republic for some time, with a view to improving and strengthening the ties between the Republic and the Federation.  They have come a long way in just a couple of years, from a disorganised flotilla of ships crewed by farmers and militia to an established Beta Quadrant power and a valued member of the Alliance.”  He paused in thought, and absent-mindedly rubbed an ugly scar on the back of his hand.  “Yet, still, there are many in the Alliance, and particularly in Starfleet, who remember all too well the treachery of the Romulan Star Empire and have not yet learned to trust the young Romulan Republic and its people.  Humans are hot-headed, Vulcans are cold, Klingons are warmongers, and Romulans are duplicitous.  These are the stereotypes and prejudices we in the Office of Cultural Affairs seek to help eradicate.  Indeed, egalitarianism and strength through diversity are the pillars upon which the Federation stands.”  Syva looked up at the pair of officers sitting on the other side of his desk and gave them a genial smile.  “The crew of the _Trent_ is an excellent example of those pillars – your ship has one of the most diverse crews seen since the USS _Titan_ under then-Capt. William Riker – and you have performed admirably in all of your missions thus far.”

            “Thank you, Admiral,” said Drake after clearing his throat.

            “Observation of the facts does not require gratitude, Commander.  A diverse crew is a strong crew – as Rear Admiral Riker is still so fond of saying – and the _Trent_ has shown this to be true.  For this reason, we-,” Syva looked up at the door as the intercom buzzer interrupted him mid-sentence.  “Ah, I suspect this will be our delayed admiral.”  He pressed the button to open the door, admitting a tall and handsome Romulan woman in formal RRF uniform, the twin-capes that marked her as an admiral fluttering behind her as she walked in.  Drake and Tarsi both stood quickly and smartly saluted the flag officer.  “Admiral, it is good to see you.  I trust Ambassador Gra is well?” Syva asked as he stood smoothly.

            “Well he muttered something about a peptic ulcer when I left his office,” replied the Romulan breezily as she gave a casual salute in reply, “but otherwise seemed as hale and curmudgeonly as usual.  And you must be Cdr Stephenson and Lt Cdr Tarsi,” she said, extending a hand to each of them in turn and smiling warmly.

            “Adm. T’Las, it’s an honour to meet you,” said Drake as he shook her offered hand.

            “Admiral,” was Tarsi’s briefer reply as she too shook T’Las’s hand.  Drake glanced sideways at her and bit back a knowing smirk as he noticed a hint of violet start to colour her cheeks.

            “A pleasure to meet you both.  I’ve heard a lot about you – and your ship and crew – from Syva here.”  She pulled up a fourth chair from the table in the corner of the office, casually hefting it one-handed like it was made of lightweight foam instead of a metal alloy.  Drake could tell without looking that his second-in-command would be staring at the Romulan woman.  “So sorry about the delay – you know how Tellarites can be when they get going!”  Across the desk, Syva’s jaw clenched.  “So, what did I miss?”

            “We were just discussing, Admiral, the benefits of diversity in a ship’s crew, and also commenting on how the old racial stereotypes need to be left in the past,” answered Syva, very pointedly.

            “Right,” said T’Las, smiling in mild embarrassment.  “Tellarites, fascinating people and brilliant negotiators.”  Syva nodded approvingly as the Romulan dug herself out of the hole.  “Argumentative little bastards, though.”  Tarsi couldn’t help but laugh, at both the comment and at Syva’s pained facial reaction to it.

            “ _Moving on_ …,” insisted Syva, his patience straining.  “Cdr Stephenson, we would like for your ship to take part in a two-pronged initiative that the Office of Cultural Affairs and our counterparts in the Romulan Republic have been working on.  The first prong is simply an expansion of the existing exchange program – you would have a number of Republic officers seconded to your crew, working under you for a rotation as acting Starfleet officers, to increase public exposure to and perception of Romulans and help show that the treachery and backstabbing attitudes of the Star Empire were cultural, rather than racial.”

            “As part of this initiative, I would also be seconded to your ship,” added T’Las, “though I would be on-board as a cultural advisor and diplomatic officer and thus outside of the ship’s chain of command.”  She paused, allowing the information to settle for a moment.  “This way, though I would still be an admiral, I would not be able to in any way interfere with the running of _your_ ship.  The RRF officers on board would of course report to yourselves, and I would merely be there to help ease any tensions, and to be a high-profile presence for both the general public and the brass of our respective organisations.”

            “That sound wonderful,” comment Tarsi, grinning a little, “ah, I mean, that sounds a wonderful _idea_ , Admiral.  Our crew would get to work alongside Romulans, who would then still have one of their own flag officers aboard to help them settle.”

            “Exactly our thinking, Lieutenant Commander,” said Syva with a nod, not noticing – or perhaps just ignoring – the Andorian’s somewhat misdirected enthusiasm.

            “I agree with my first officer, sir,” Drake chimed in.  “This seems like an excellent diplomatic venture, and one that we – and the crew of the _Trent_ – would be honoured to be involved in.”

            “Someone put his diplomat shoes on this morning,” commented the smirking T’Las, causing Drake to clear his throat self-consciously.  Syva nodded again, with growing enthusiasm.

            “Excellent.  I am very pleased to hear that you are both fully on-board with the initiative.  Which brings me round to the second part of it – the mission itself to which the officer exchange program is merely a component.  Now, I do not wish to speak indelicately here but I feel it would best serve all of us if I used plain language so that there can be no room for misunderstanding.”  Drake and Tarsi exchanged a puzzled look as the Vulcan continued, “The Office of Cultural Affairs has for some time been compiling a database on interspecies matters and relations.  That is to say, we have been cataloguing and analysing which species are sexually compatible with each other.”  Across from him, Tarsi and Drake’s mouths opened almost simultaneously as a dozen questions begged to be asked.

            “Now, many are plainly known about,” Syva continued.  “Starfleet has no shortage of mixed-heritage officers, after all.  But as the Alliance strengthens and Federation members increasingly come into contact with a greater variety of races, this work has grown in importance.  It is well-known, for instance, that Humans and Vulcans are physically compatible and are capable of having healthy children together with only a moderate amount of medical assistance, and with no more risk to the mother than would normally be present.  It is less well-known, however, just how many species are capable of producing healthy children together, or children at all, or even which species absolutely should not indulge in sexual couplings for the safety of either or both persons involved.”  The two non-flag officers sat in silence, both hugely intrigued as to where this was leading but neither wanting to be so impolite as to outright ask the admiral to get to the point.  Besides, it was not every day that one got to listen to a Vulcan talk about interspecies sex!

            “Did either of you know, for instance, that were I to have sexual intercourse with a Bolian woman it would make both of us very ill, and could potentially result in fatal consequences if medical attention were not received promptly?”

            “I did not…,” replied Drake, as fascinated as he was bemused.

            “I did, sir,” said Tarsi.  Drake turned to look at her.  “All to do with pH levels, sir.  Bolian blood and bodily fluids, like Andorian, are more acidic than most other races.  With my people the difference isn’t great enough to cause any serious concerns – though I would imagine having children with a Vulcan would be impossible -,” Syva nodded in confirmation, “but Bolian blood is more acidic still.  It would likely cause some mild post-coital discomfort in a human – muscle fatigue, nausea, that sort of thing – but Vulcans are slightly _alkaline_ compared to the galactic norm, and the pH difference would lead to serious complications.”  She paused, and there was silence in the room as both Drake and T’Las took this information in.  Syva merely nodded again, quietly impressed by the Andorian’s knowledge of the subject.  “I mean, just kissing between a Bolian and Vulcan would be unpleasant,” Tarsi added.  “The Vulcan’s saliva would taste very bitter to the Bolian, and the Bolian’s would be as sour as stomach acid to the Vulcan.  Sir.”

            “You are quite correct, Lieutenant Commander.  I suspect – much as it is on Vulcan – such concerns are taught as standard, on account of your people’s blood chemistry being outside of the ‘normal’ range for the Alpha and Beta quadrants?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “When I woke up this morning, I did not think that I would end up talking to an Admiral about Vulcan-Bolian sex complications,” commented Drake, slightly stunned by the direction taken.

            “I can sympathise, Commander,” said the Romulan admiral, her brow creased in a mixture of puzzlement and mild disgust.  “I _did_ know what the meeting was about, and I am still finding myself somewhat taken aback."

            “My apologies, sir,” said Tarsi, meekly.

            “No need for you to apologise, Lieutenant Commander.  It was I that instigated this conversation and I offer my apologies for the unintentional mental discomfort caused by the subject matter.  However, I hope we can all see now why this is a rather important subject of study.”  There was a general nodding of heads and murmured confirmations.  “For that reason, the Office of Cultural Affairs has commissioned the production of a comprehensive work on the nature of interspecies relations, to catalogue them fully and highlight where there are dangers, where offspring are viable, and so on.  The writer we have commissioned is a joined Trill by the name of Odani Decanis, and we wish for him and his research assistant to join you and your crew aboard your ship, Commander.”

            “You want us to be involved in the production of this work, sir?”

            “Do not feel you have to deliberately and directly contribute, Commander, but yes, I would like for Mr Odani to have the chance to see your crew in action-,” he paused, catching the unintentional euphemism a little too late, “that is, to see how you go about your work on a day-to-day basis, and to be able to catalogue where relationships exist between differing species and – with the permission of the individuals concerned, of course – interview them about the experience and any difficulties, or perhaps any particular highlights, that they would not find if they were with a member of their own species.”

            “He wants your crew to sleep around while someone makes notes,” summarised T’Las, drily.

            “Yes, thank you for that succinct synopsis, Admiral.”

            “Quite welcome, Syva.”  T’Las smiled sweetly at the Vulcan’s sarcastic reply.

            “You will, I hope, get used to Adm. T’Las’s lack of formality,” said Syva with a sigh.

            “The _Trent_ is a fairly relaxed and informal ship, sir,” Drake assured him.

            “Then you should get on splendidly.  This leads me onto our penultimate piece of business today, Commander – your ship.”

            “There’s a problem with the _Trent_ , sir?”

            “Not a problem as such, but it is felt that with this new mission your vessel is in need of an upgrade.”

            “Well, we did _really_ enjoy the showering facilities here at Earth Spacedock, sir,” said Tarsi hopefully.  She blushed again as she noticed T’Las smirking at her.  “Separately, Admiral.”

            “I’m not judging!” replied the Romulan.  Syva pointedly cleared his throat to bring the focus back to the topic at hand.

            “It is not the ship’s facilities that we would be looking to upgrade, rather the ship itself.  The pair of you, and indeed your entire crew, have shown themselves to be more than capable in a wide variety of missions, and it is only fair that your ship should reflect your versatility and capabilities.  To that end, I am proposing that you be given commission of the USS _Wakefield_ , a _Comet-_ class RSV.”

            “ _Comet_ -class?” Drake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “That would be quite a step up from the _Trent,_ sir.”

            “It would be a seventy-five percent increase in your crew complement.  The incoming rotation of crew has been selected with this mission in mind, and changes to the permanent staff have been made in the same vein.  You will however be free to assign your own senior staff.  My office has also compiled a list of available specialists who would be suitable for the mission; the information has been transmitted to the _Wakefield’s_ computer.  You will also find the facilities to be a lot more advanced than on your _Centaur_ -class light cruiser.  The holodecks, in particular, are state-of-the-art.  I have no doubt that this will prove useful in your mission.”  Drake and Tarsi sat staring silently at the Vulcan for some time, neither of them quite sure how to follow-on from the implications of that last comment.  Eventually it was Tarsi who spoke up, choosing to shift the focus.

            “That’s a very large, very advanced vessel for a commander, sir.”  Her words were carefully-measured.

            “Quite so, Lieutenant Commander.”  There was a slight twinkle in Syva’s eyes as he turned to focus on Drake.  “The new commission will also come with a promotion, _Captain_.” Drake sat up straighter, practically snapping to attention in his chair.

            “Thank you, Admiral, I’m honoured.”

            “It is earned, Capt. Stephenson.  Now, I would also advise you have an officer of the commander rating as your first officer.  Would it be safe for me to presume that you will be putting Lt Cdr Tarsi forward for recommendation?”

            “Absolutely, Admiral,” Drake emphatically confirmed, causing Tarsi to grin broadly.

            “Good.  I shall approve both these promotion recommendations and have them finalised by the end of the day.  Additionally, please submit to me by eighteen-hundred tomorrow a list of other personnel you would recommend for promotion, and which officers you wish to invite to join you aboard your new command.  We will waive the usual regulations and recommendations, and you should feel free to build your command staff as you see fit.”

            “I could provide you with a list here and now, sir, but I would prefer to speak to my crew on a one-to-one basis before putting their names forward.  Given the nature of the mission, there are some officers who might prefer to stay with the _Trent_.”

            “Hmm, a fair point, Captain.  Very well, would forty-eight hours be sufficient?”

            “Amply, Admiral.  Thank you.”

            “Excellent.  There is just one last thing before you go – I need to introduce you both to your new First Lieutenant aboard the _Wakefield_.”  Syva pressed a button on his desk’s intercom unit to hail his secretary in the adjacent office.  “Mr Gevan, would you be kind enough to send Lt Zhivkova in.”  He finished the call and looked up at Drake and Tarsi, “Lt Zhivkova has served on the _Wakefield_ for the past four years and was previously the ship’s deputy chief of operations.  She was promoted to the role of First Lieutenant at the end of the _Wakefield’s_ most recent rotation.”  He paused for a moment, before adding as an afterthought, “Lt Dillon is the new deputy chief.  I will leave it to Lt Zhivkova to explain him.”

            “ _Explain_ him?” Drake had been about to say but had barely opened his mouth when the door chimed and was immediately answered by Syva.  A young woman in Operations colours walked in and smartly saluted the gathering of senior officers.

            “Sir, Lt Zhivkov reporting as requested.”  Syva nodded and saluted in reply.

            “At ease, Lieutenant.  Capt. Stephenson, Cdr Tarsi, this is Lieutenant Elena Zhivkova, the _Wakefield’s_ First Lieutenant.  Lt Zhivkova, your new Commanding Officer and First Officer.  Adm. T’Las you already know.”  Further salutes were exchanged, with Drake and Tarsi standing to greet their newest crewmember, while T’Las merely gave a small wave.

            “Captain, Commander, it is an honour to be able to welcome you to the _Wakefield’s_ roster and I look forward to formally welcoming you aboard our fine vessel.”

            “As do we, Lieutenant.  She sounds like quite the ship.”

            “She really is, sir.”  Zhivkov half-turned to face Adm. Syva, “Sir, will that be all?”

            “Yes, thank you Lieutenant.  You may now show the Admiral, Captain, and Commander to their new vessel.”

            “Yes, sir,” replied Zhivkov, saluting Syva smartly then turning back to the other three.  “Sirs, if you will follow me.”  Drake nodded in reply before he and Tarsi stood to attention before Syva.

            “Admiral,” they chorused as they saluted.

            “Captain, Commander,” replied Syva as he saluted in return.  T’Las languidly stood from her chair and flipped off a casual salute in the other admiral’s general direction.

            “See you around, Syva,” she commented as she joined the others in heading out of the office.  Once the door had closed behind them, Syva let out a long, exhausted sigh and pressed his intercom.

            “Mr Gevan, please reschedule the rest of today’s appointments for tomorrow.  I feel the need for a long period of meditation.  And maybe some strong alcohol.”

##  Act II – Welcome Aboard

Day -4

            “Officers on deck!”  Announced the _Wakefied’s_ transporter chief as the four officers rematerialized on the transporter pad.  He stood to attention and saluted crisply at them and, after taking a moment to get their bearings, they saluted back.

            “At ease, Mr R’raak,” said Lt Zhivkov as they all stepped down from the pad.  Adm. T’Las, Capt. Stephenson, Cdr Tarsi, this is TO R’raak.  You would normally find him on the gamma shift but, as I’m sure you can imagine, the shifts are a little non-standard while we finish the refit.”

            “Indeed.  Thank you for getting us aboard in one piece and without cloning us, Mr R’raak” said Drake, smiling jovially.

            “Quite welcome, sir!”  The Caitian grinned.

            “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, sirs, I just need to check in with my crew,” Zhivkov said.  Drake nodded, and the lieutenant went over to speak to R’raak.

            “A promotion and a shiny new ship in the same day,” mused Drake as he looked around the _Wakefield’s_ transporter room.  “I know it’s a little unprofessional, but I feel like a kid in a candy shop right now.”  He turned his head as a hand fell on his shoulder.

            “I quite understand, Capt. Stephenson,” said T’Las, smiling kindly.  “I felt just as giddy when I was given my first Dhelan warbird.  It was such a step-up from the T’varo and T’liss classes I was used to commanding… I think I spent most of my first week aboard wandering around in a daze, grinning like a fool.”

            “Ha!  Oh, that reminds me, Admiral, how should I address you now?”

            “Well, if you’re introducing me to someone then my full title would be ‘Ambassador T’Las, Admiral of the Romulan Republican Force’.  But you can just call me T’Las, or ‘Zig’.”

 _“Zig?”_ queried Drake, a curious smile on his face and his eyebrows raised in amusement.

            “Old nickname from my pre-Republic days on Virinat.  Get to know me well enough and I might even tell you what it means.”  She smiled, then shrugged and continued, “In the meantime, just _Ambassador_ or _Ma’am_ will do for everyone else.  It might be a diplomatic mission, but we don’t need to be on full protocol all the time.  And you and Commander Tarsi certainly don’t need to address me as a superior.”

            “That works for me, and you can call me Drake.  I have always preferred a slightly less formal approach with my crew.  Naturally, formality and protocol have a place, especially during combat, but I find the day-to-day life of flying through the void in a tin can to be a lot easier if everyone’s relaxed.”

            “We still expect full uniform on-shift, however,” Tarsi interjected.  “We’re not one of those super informal ships where half the bridge crew are in their off-duty wear.”

            “Shame,” replied T’Las, smirking playfully at Tarsi.  The Andorian flushed a little and mumbled something about needing to check with Lt Zhivkov about the transfer, and promptly hurried off.  Drake and T’Las watched her retreat, the Romulan still smiling.

            “Coolest head I’ve ever seen in a firefight,” commented Drake, “But have a strong, dominant woman flirt with her and she turns to jelly.”

            T’Las laughed.  “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.  It’s like an automatic reflex.”

            “Oh, it’s fine, she’ll get used to it and be trying to turn the tables of you before long.”

            “I look forward to it.  Well, I have a shuttle at the Earth Spacedock loaded with my personal effects and ready to go; permission to come aboard, Captain?”

            “Permission granted, Ambassador,” Drake replied with a smile.

            “Splendid.  If anyone needs me, I will be in my quarters.  Drake.”

            “Zig.”

            Tarsi looked up as the Romulan ambassador headed off to the turbolifts.  She said something to Lt Zhivkov, and then they both walked over to where Drake was standing.

            “Seems everything is in order, sir.  Lt Zhivkov has had things well-prepared for our arrival.”

            “Thank you, sir,” Zhivkov said modestly.  “I have Adm. Syva's list of recommendations here,” she indicated the PADD she had picked up from the ship’s transporter chief, “and we should probably also go over your staff officer choices before I introduce you both to the rest of the senior staff.”

            “Good idea, Lieutenant,” Drake replied.  “I take it my new ready room will be just off the bridge, as normal?”

            “Yes, sir.” She indicated the turbolift, “Shall we?”  Drake and Tarsi both nodded, and the three of them walked over.

            “Bridge please,” Zhivkov said as they boarded the lift. 

            “I’m assuming Skavrin and Ekish will be joining us, sir?” asked Tarsi while the lift ascended.

            “Wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind.  While engineering might be a bit larger and more advanced than Skavrin’s used to, I’ve never known him to find a problem he can’t fix.  Likewise, I’m confident that Ekish can handle the challenge of a larger operations department.”  He paused to consider this, then turned to Zhivkov, “How large is Operations here, Lieutenant?”

            “Eighty-three personnel, sir.  Myself included.  According to Adm. Syva’s briefing we will also be taking on five cadets in Operations, sir.”

            Drake nodded, satisfied, “Ekish will be fine.  Though that reminds me, Lieutenant – the Admiral said you would ‘explain’ the deputy head of operations.  Lt Dillon, I think it was.”

            “He goes by _D’Lan_ at the moment, sir.”  Drake raised an eyebrow, puzzled.  “Lt Dillon is a photonic life-form, a hologram, sir.  However, his programme is a little… _unstable_.  Not in a way that affects his capacity to carry out his role aboard the ship, I hasten to add, but he has a somewhat flexible persona.”

            “We have a schizophrenic hologram in Operations?” asked Tarsi, starting to look alarmed.

            “No, no.  Nothing like that, sir.  Lt Dillon just likes to reinvent himself.  For instance, he is currently a Klingon by the name of D’Lan, whereas a few months ago he was an alien species of his own devising and had a name that was quite unpronounceable to ninety percent of the crew, and before that he was a Vulcan, also called D’Lan.  It doesn’t affect his work, and his core personality remains much the same, but it can take some getting used to.”  There was silence for several seconds, until Tarsi spoke just as the lift came to a stop.

            “That’s uh… that’s different.”

            “We’re a pretty ‘different’ crew, sir,” replied Zhivkov, smiling slightly.  The doors opened, and they walked out onto the bridge, with both Drake and Tarsi taking a few moments to appreciate the sight

            “Wow, this makes the Trent look like a mining vessel,” said Tarsi as she started walking around.  “Everything is so sleek and pristine!  And ooh, a triumvirate seating plan.”

            “This is a very impressive bridge, Lt Zhivkov,” said Drake.  The lieutenant smiled in acknowledgement as she allowed her new commanding officers to familiarise themselves with the bridge.  “I think we’ll need a new security officer, Tarsi.”  He paused in his wandering to inspect the mission operations display, tapping through screens as he carried on talking to Tarsi.  “I like Amos, but I’m not convinced he’s got what it takes to run a department.  He seems to be a little in over his head on the _Trent_ , and the _Wakefield’s_ security department is going to be larger.”

            “Thirty-six personnel, sir.  With five cadets and six new recruits expected to join us before we leave Spacedock," said Zhivkov, before adding almost as an afterthought, "and one Reman pirate.”  Drake and Tarsi both stopped dead and turned to look at her.

            “A Re-…,” Drake started, then stopped.  Then he said, “Lt Zhivkov, I would appreciate it if, right now, you would list and explain to me _all_ the, ah, ‘non-standard’ crew we have aboard the _Wakefield_ , because otherwise I’m liable to injure myself from whipping my head around in disbelief each time.”

            “My apologies, sir.  Lt Janiek is a senior security officer on loan from the KDF as part of _that_ exchange programme and was formerly the captain of a Nausicaan pirate vessel.  Prior to that, he was a slave on a Romulan mining colony.”  She paused, as both Tarsi and Drake stared at her.

            “Sorry, did I just hear that we have a Reman slave-turned-pirate in our _security team?”_

            “Yes, Cdr Tarsi,” replied Zhivkov.  “We also have Lt Obisik in Intelligence.  She is a Reman, sir, but I do not believe she is a former slave.”

            “Well this is going to be a very interesting mission, with eleven Romulans on board as well.”

            “On the bright side, Tarsi, it’s an excellent opportunity to make great strides in burying past grievances and moving forward together.”  Drake smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

            “Ha!” barked the Andorian.  “Syva would be proud of that answer!”

            “We also have a Kazon shuttle pilot,” continued Zhivkov, “a Suliban and a liberated Borg drone in engineering, a Lethean cook, and a Gorn biochemist, sir.”

            “I got on well with the few Gorn I’ve met,” mused Drake, “but the idea of a Lethean cook wavers somewhere between disturbing and outright horrifying.”  He shook his head and turned to face his first officer, “Right, well, back on topic – Tarsi, what are your thoughts on Amos Seaholm?”

            “He’s a capable officer and leader, sir, but as you say his administrative abilities let him down.  I think he would take the beta shift as relief security officer without any complaints.  Probably thank you for it.”

            Drake nodded before continuing, “We’ll need a new chief science officer, too – Vani let me know a few months ago that he was looking to retire and had an open offer of a permanent teaching position at the Academy.”  He opened the door to the ready room and walked into the surprisingly plush and spacious chamber.

            “Good for him, he’s earned it.  Yao would seem the obvious successor.”  She followed Drake and stopped in the doorway, staring with her mouth open. “ _That’s_ the ready room?  It’s bigger than the conference room was on the _Trent!”_

            “Room for seven plus one,” said Drake in agreement.

            “It has a couch,” added Tarsi.

            “Replicator, too,” said Drake as they continued to explore.  “Regarding Yao, he might be the senior officer but If xenology is going to be our focus going-forward then it makes sense to have the department run by someone with a stronger background in the discipline.  Yao certainly knows his astrometrics but he can’t tell a Klingon from a Nausicaan.”  Tarsi nodded in agreement and thought for a moment. 

            “Well, Lt Osennkca is our most experienced and qualified xenologist.  Tends to have his head in the clouds half the time though so I’m not sure he could run a department.”

            “Yes, Lt Vani has spoken highly of him in the past.  Hmm,” Drake drummed his fingers on his ready room’s desk while he considered the problem., then wandered back over to the door and called out, “Lieutenant, who or what are the extra specialists that Adm. Syva mentioned?”

            “According to the Admiral’s recommendations, sir,” Zhivkov quickly scrolled through a list on her PADD, “we should look to have specialists in: xenoanthropology, xenoarchaeology, xenobiology, xenoecology, xeno-,” she paused, noticing the ‘get to the point’ hand gesture her new captain was making, “Um, we’re going to be taking on about thirty xeno studies personnel, not including cadets.” 

            “ _Thirty_ crew?  That’s practically a department in itself!”  Drake’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

            “It _is_ ,” replied Tarsi, poking her head out from the doorway of a side room to the ready room.  “So, let’s make it one.”

            “Ah, make Osennkca our ‘Chief Xenologist’, and promote Yao from deputy to chief science officer?” The Andorian nodded.  “Good thinking, Tarsi.  So long as we get Osennkca a level-headed deputy to help him stay on track, he should be fine running a small department.”

            “Or perhaps an assistant,” suggested Tarsi.

            “Also a good option.”

            “We currently have two xenologists posted to the _Wakefield_ , sirs,” Zhivkov informed them.  “Of the two, the senior is Lt Mei Lee; she has a reputation for being very methodical and driven.”

            “That does sound like a good balance to Osennkca,” observed Tarsi.

            “Agreed.  Book her in to sit down with me please, Lieutenant.  After my meetings with Yao and Osennkca, of course.”  The lieutenant nodded and tapped away on her PADD.  Drake paused, and then looked over to where Tarsi had vanished.  “What have you found in there?”

            “Your head has a _shower!”_

            “Really?  Well, I guess a captain always has to be refreshed and presentable.”  He smiled at the Andorian as she re-joined him in the main part of the ready room. “Now, regarding medical, I’m thinking about bringing T’Met over as our CMO.”

            “Not Muldaur?” asked Tarsi, somewhat surprised.

            “Dr Muldaur’s a brilliant surgeon but he’s not getting any younger and, honestly, I think he’d be happier on a patrol vessel like the _Trent_ than on a diplomatic mission.  Especially one with our, ah, _parameters._ ”  Drake started to walk back onto the bridge, with his second following him.

            “You have a point,” conceded Tarsi, after a moment’s consideration.  “So T’Met for medical, Skavrin for engineering, Ekish for ops, Yao for science with Osennkca to head the new xenology department, and then a new security officer to recruit.  That’s all the department heads planned out.”

            “Not quite,” Drake stopped browsing over the bridge’s mission ops display and looked at Tarsi.  “Our crew is going to increase by a huge margin, and the _Wakefield’s_ just a lot physically bigger than the _Trent_ , with far more going on – including a whole new department, it seems.  With all that additional administration, I’d like you to step down from running tactical and focus purely on being our executive officer.”

            “Okay,” she replied, simply.

            “Really?  That’s it?  I’d expected to have to persuade you.  I’d even been working on a short speech.”

            “I’m your second, boss.  You need me to do it, it’s done.  Besides, I’m not going to argue against you lightening my workload!”

            “Okay, good.  Now, replacing you is going to be tricky – I’m not sure young Flores is up to running a department just yet.  Though she has shown enough promise that I want to bring her along in some capacity, but we’re going to need someone new to take over from you.”

            “Gorret Glihd,” said Tarsi.

            “I’m sorry, what?”

            “Lieutenant and gunnery officer on the _Springfield_ , sir,” Zhivkov clarified, having quickly brought up the officer’s record on her PADD.  “Trained as a pilot, switched to gunnery when she discovered how much she liked shooting things.  Proficient in Anbo-jyutsu, Suus Mahna, and Mok’bara.”  She passed the PADD to Drake to read.

            “Impressive,” said Drake as he looked over her profile.  “She can beat people up in three languages.  And this is one of Syva’s recommendations?”

            “Um,” Tarsi’s cheeks started to turn purple with embarrassment.  “No, she’s one of mine.  I…,” she trailed off, a hand gesturing aimlessly.

            “You assumed I would promote you someday and have been scouting out possible tac officer replacements since…,” he gestured for her to finish his sentence.

            “Oh, only since we got the communique summoning us to meet Adm. Syvas.  Like you said earlier, the two of us being called to see an admiral out of the blue, it had to mean promotion.  New and bigger ship was a surprise but I figured if they were promoting you to captain then we’d be getting a mission to go with it, and that mission would be more than just patrols, so it made sense that you’d need someone to take some of the crew administration off of your shoulders, and well…,” Tarsi trailed off again, then just shrugged.

            “That kind of forethought is why you’re my first officer, Tarsi.  Thank you.”  He resumed looking at Glihd’s profile while Tarsi beamed with pride.  “She looks good.  Huh, a Bolian?  Don’t see many of them in tac-sec.”

            “That’s what caught my eye about her first.  Everything about her screams pretty much the opposite of your typical Bolian.  Made me look further and I saw her academy record was just as impressive as her career so far.”

            Drake nodded absently as he read, “It really does.  Alright, sound her out and invite her over for an interview, Lt Zhivkov.”

            “Yes, sir,” replied Zhivkov as Drake handed her PADD back to her.  “Would you like to conduct the interviews here or back on Spacedock?”

            “Spacedock, I think.  Temporary offices there are a bit basic but at least I won’t be distracted by sitting in my shiny new ship.”

            “Okay, sir.  I’ll book you a room and schedule Lt Glihd in after the others, so you have your own officers taken care of before interviewing new ones.”

            “Perfect, thank you.”

            “Will there be anything else, sir?”

            “No, I think that concludes our business for the moment, Lieutenant.  Thank you for your assistance.

            “Not a problem, sir.  I will book the interviews in for you and send the times over once they’re confirmed.  Captain, Commander.”  Zhivkov saluted them both, then about-turned and went back to the turbolift.

            “She’s good,” observed Tarsi once Zhivkov was gone.  “Slightly odd, but good.”

            “’Slightly odd’ seems to be a common descriptor for our new crew.  Between the Reman pirate, eccentric hologram, and all other ‘different’ crew we’ll have under us I am finding myself wondering just what we’ve agreed to by taking this ship on.”

            “You’ll find a way to make it work, Drake.  Always have,” she said, grinning broadly as she playfully punched his shoulder.

##  Act III – Changing of the Guard

Day -3

            Captain Drake Stephenson leaned back in his chair as he regarded the computer display in front of him.  Twenty-four hours ago, he had been a commander in charge of a light cruiser that undertook routine patrol and assistance missions, almost entirely in the Beta sector, and had been responsible for a couple of hundred crew.  Now he was a captain, sitting in a surprisingly smart and well-appointed rented office on Earth Spacedock – he would have to remember to thank Zhivkov for that – having just carried out his fifth interview of the evening for the positions of department heads on a state-of-the-art research and science vessel that was expected to spend the next five years on-mission.  It was a lot to take on.

            Still, the interviews had gone well.  All the promoted personnel had been delighted – not just with the promotion, but also with the knowledge that their commanding officer valued them enough to want them to accompany them on his new commission.  As predicted, Lt Seaholm had been happy with the reduction in role from department head to deputy and had outright said that he didn’t see it as a demotion, considering the vessel and mission he was being assigned to.  T’Met had been delighted to be offered the Chief Medical Officer post and had even smiled, albeit briefly.

            All in all, nine members of the _Trent’s_ crew had joined Drake and Tarsi in transferring to the Wakefield – as well as the heads of departments that they had discussed together, and Lieutenants Seaholm and Flores, Lt VanZyl had also transferred.  Although as VanZyl worked in Intelligence, her paperwork stated her to have transferred to an entirely different ship, in a different sector even, with nobody on the _Trent_ or the extant crew on the _Wakefield_ any the wiser.

            Now he just had chief security and tactical officers to interview, a deputy chief engineer to approve – a Cardassian by the name of Jila Tele who came highly recommended and who had already applied for the transfer prior to Drake’s accepting the commission – and nine Romulan exchange officers to meet.  Still, at least he could leave most of the cadet interviews and approvals to his new heads of department, though he and Tarsi were still going to have to split the tac-sec cadets between them.

            The door buzzed.  Drake looked up and stared dumbly at it for a few moments before his mind came back into focus.  He glanced at his computer screen and tapped back to his schedule – it was one of the applicants for the Chief of Security position, an Orion by the name of Vukarno.

            “Enter,” he called out, remotely unlocking the door while skimming over the officer’s application and service record to refresh his memoru.  A very solid Academy record, particularly in the practical exams, and a spotless disciplinary record during his career.  He looked up as the officer marched into his office and struggled to hide his surprise.  Lt Vukarno was not what he was expecting.

            “Lieutenant Vukarno reporting as instructed, sir!” announced the Orion as he approached Drake’s desk and fired off a textbook salute.  He was young – the youngest Drake had interviewed for the position so far, and maybe a decade younger than Drake himself – and possessed the typically chiselled jaw, aquiline nose, and imposing physique of an Orion male.  While Drake was generally considered fairly tall and well-built himself, Vukarno out-did him on both counts.  However, what _really_ caught his eye was the Orion’s hair – while the majority of his head was clean-shaven like most Orion men, there was a two-inch-thick band of long, jet-black hair running down the middle and tied into a pony-tail at the back.  And then there was the beard – he’d never seen an Orion with anything more than stubble on their face, but Vukarno had a tidily-trimmed pointed goatee and handlebar moustache combo that was every bit as perfectly presented as his uniform, which itself looked like it had been cleaned and pressed just minutes ago, and then only put on right before the Orion walked into Drake’s office.

            “At ease, Lieutenant,” replied Drake as he returned the salute, his eyes still taking in the Orion’s unexpected appearance. “And, please, take a seat.”  Vukarno gave a curt nod before folding himself into one of the chairs opposite Drake.  _He looks like he could be on a recruitment advert,_ Drake found himself thinking.  “I see you are currently stationed here on Earth Spacedock.”  The Orion nodded briefly, still sitting to attention.  Drake idly wondered if he even slept to attention.  “Why have you applied for a transfer to the _Wakefield?”_

            “Sir, I want to see the galaxy, sir,” replied the Orion, stiffly.

            “Understandable,” said Drake, “but why the _Wakefield_ in particular?  There are lots of security postings available on exploration vessels that will see far more of the galaxy than we will on our mission.

            “Sir, the USS _Wakefield_ was recommended to me by Adm. Syva, sir.”

            “You realise you don’t need to start _and_ end every sentence with ‘sir’, Lieutenant?  This is Starfleet, not MACO.  We’re a bit more relaxed.”  He smiled kindly at the Orion, who looked at him uncertainly.

            “My apologies, sir.  I wanted to make the best possible impression.  It would seem I got a little carried away.”  It was odd seeing such a large man looking sheepish.

            “Quite alright, Lieutenant.  Interviews can be nerve-wracking affairs but, please, just be yourself.  I want to see if you’re the right person to run my security department, not just the right person to take to official events.”  The Orion nodded, and his posture relaxed somewhat, though he still sat stiffly.  “Now, if Syva – that is, Adm. Syva – recommended you, I can only assume that he had your compatibility for the mission in mind as well as your capabilities as a security officer.  Would I be correct in thinking that?”

            “Si-,” he stopped and cleared his throat.  “Yes, sir.  I had originally put in an open transfer request for any ships in need of a senior security officer and was contacted by Adm. Syva several weeks ago after he saw this.  The Admiral explained the broad overview of the _Wakefield’s_ upcoming mission’s parameters, and that he felt I – as an Orion male – would be well suited to the mission.  He also noted that my ‘adoption of Federation and Starfleet ideals and culture’ also served to illustrate a key point of the mission, that is, the breaking down of old stereotypes.”

            “Does that not make you feel that you have been recommended perhaps as a PR move rather than on your own merits?”

            “Perhaps, sir,” replied Vukarno, smiling just a little.  “But I _am_ still an Orion, sir, and we are nothing if not pragmatic.  A promotion is a promotion, and regardless of the motive behind my recommendation, it still provides me with the same opportunities to further my career, see the galaxy, and partake in experiences that simply would not be available here on the Spacedock, sir.”   Drake thought for a moment, his steepled fingers resting idly against his lips.

            “A very good answer, and an attitude I can commend, Lieutenant.”  The Orion nodded slightly at the praise. “However, while I can agree with the Admiral’s appraisal of your suitability for the mission, I am concerned as to whether your level of experience and seniority makes you suitable as a department head and staff officer.  What would you say in regard to that?”

            “Sir, I would say that I am currently in charge of a shift of one hundred and twenty-seven personnel, which is three times the size of the _Wakefield’s_ entire security department.”

            “And which shift is that, Lieutenant?”

            “Beta shift, sir.”  Drake nodded at the reply and made a brief note on his PADD, which he immediately sent on to his XO, Tarsi.

            “Then there’s the lack of combat experience.”

            “I have scored within the top five percent of all of the combat simulations I have taken part in, sir, and have regularly undertaken additional simulations beyond those expected of my position.  While I understand that simulated combat lacks the visceral reality of, well, _real_ combat, I can but offer my assurances that as an Orion I am not easily intimidated or scared, and that as a Starfleet officer I see keeping my crew safe as my number one priority in any combat scenario, sir.”

            “I see,” commented Drake, looking down for a moment as his PADD indicated Tarsi had replied – _‘Checked recordings; seems natural leader’._ He nodded to himself and turned his attention back to the Orion officer.  “Let me give you a scenario, Lieutenant – your five-man away team is pinned down under hostile fire, too close to a dense rocky outcrop to be able to beam out.  A beamable location is sprinting distance away, but it is unlikely that you would be able to make it without casualties, especially as one of your officers is wounded.”

            “How badly wounded, sir?” the Orion immediately asked.

            “The team’s medical officer has got him back on his feet, but he needs proper medical attention before long and he’s in no condition to fight.”

            “Will he be able to make the run to safety?”

            “Yes, but his injury would slow the team down and increase the chance of casualties.”  Vukarno considered this.

            “I have five crew – including a medical officer and a wounded officer who can walk but not run.  Starfleet protocols consider up to twenty percent losses ‘acceptable’.  I could provide the wounded officer with an additional weapon and order them to lay down covering fire so that the rest of us can escape safely, or I can order the whole team to move while firing and hope for the best.” He pondered further, before abruptly asking a question: “What are the hostiles armed with, sir?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Their guns, sir.  Disruptor, plasma, phaser?”

            “Phasers,” replied Drake with a shrug.  Vukarno nodded and smiled.

            “I take whatever shield units are still working, and the wounded officer’s weapon.  My team prime whatever photon grenades we have left and throw them towards the enemy, while I charge them and lay down covering fire.  My team uses this distraction to break for the safe zone to beam out.  Between the shields, my armour, and my natural resistance to phaser weaponry, I estimate I would be able to take four or five direct hits before being immobilised, which should provide my team with sufficient time, especially if the grenades and my covering fire are able to cause any hostile casualties.”

 

[UNFINISHED]

##  Act IV – Welcome Aboard, Part II

Day -2

            _Blood.  So much blood.  And the screaming.  The Taureans screaming in bloodlust as they close in.  Ens. Briggs screaming in pain as his arm is amputated.  Dr Holstein screaming in terror as his mind snaps._

_“Got it!” Lt Zata announces triumphantly, moving his hands away from the gaping wound – “wound” is too mild a word; Briggs’ arm hangs on by a thread, with the bone and much of the muscle sheared clean through by a Taurean throwing-spear.  “Phaser, beam setting.”  He reaches out, not taking his eyes off of the ruin of Briggs’ arm just in case the temporary clamp slips from the artery.  I pass him his from where it lies, flicking the dial to the correct setting.  He takes a breath, wipes the sweat from his brow – leaving a large, bloody smear – and then takes aim at Brigg’s injury.  Myself and Lt Drake Stephenson hold the poor ensign still while Zata completes what the Taureans started and amputates his arm, a few inches below the shoulder.  The phaser does a cleaner job than the spear’s jagged blade, cauterising as it cuts.  The small metal clamp stopping Briggs from bleeding out onto the alien soil melts under the phaser’s beam, the flesh around it sears, and Briggs stops screaming at last.  Dr Holstein stops screaming, too, and starts to sob instead.  It is quieter at least.  Zata sighs in momentary relief._

_“Is he…,” I start to ask._

_“He passed out,” Zata answers, before checking Briggs’ pulse at his throat.  “Weak but there.”_

_“We need to move, sir,” I say to Drake.  He nods and looks around nervously; we can hear how close the Taureans are._

_“Zata, Hylkis,” one of Dr Holstein’s research assistants looks up, terror in her eyes.  “I need you two to get Briggs and everyone else to the shuttle.”  He passes his phaser pistol to Hylkis and unslings his rifle.  “You know how to use one of these?”  She nods.  She’s scared, we all are, but she’s coherent.  “Good.  Tarsi, you’re with me.  We’re going to draw fire in the opposite direction to the shuttle so Zata can get Dr Holstein and his team to safety.”_

_I nod.  “And once they’re aboard?”  Drake hesitates.  He hasn’t thought that far into the plan.  This is his first away mission, and he’s not as prepared as he wants to be.  Honestly, none of us are._

_“I can pilot a shuttle,” suggests one of the research assistants.  I do not know his name.  Never will.  “I mean, I’m not licensed but…,”_

_“It will do,” says Drake, relieved.  “Get everyone onboard, then take off and head for our position.  Don’t try to land, just get close enough to scare off the natives, then throw down a line.”  I nod in agreement.  It’s as good a plan as we’re going to get right now, and we don’t have time to work on another one.  “Ready, Lieutenant?” he asks me._

_“Ready, Lieutenant,” I reply.  I start with a photon grenade.  It’s loud and flashy, guaranteed to get attention, and it does.  The Taureans pause in their wailing, their prey located.  Drake and I rush out from cover, him with his rifle, me with mine and Briggs’ pistols.  The first couple of shots are blind and wild, more about getting attention and causing disruption than doing any damage.  After that we start to aim.  We can see them now, and they can see us, but we can shoot faster and further than they can throw.  One Taurean takes a rifle bolt to the face and staggers before flopping heavily to the ground.  A spear whistles through the air and lands where I had been standing.  The air flickers and flashes with the light from our guns.  We hope it disorients the Taureans even if it doesn’t hit them.  Their spears are primitive, but Briggs could testify to how effective they are.  The shielding in our away uniforms are designed to absorb and redirect energy weapons, but against a heavy bladed spear thrown by a three-metre-tall humanoid they’re just cloth._

_Drake curses as a spear hits him.  I turn in horror, expecting to see him on the floor, impaled, but he still stands.  The spear must have tumbled in flight and caught him with the shaft, not the blade.  But one arm hangs limply by his side and he has to fire his rifle one-handed.  I drop Briggs’ pistol.  Or is it mine?  I drop it and use both hands for the other to steady my aim.  A Taurean dies a moment later.  I stand still and another one is gone.  Another.  Another.  Another.  There are so many of them.  Where is the shuttle?  Drake is crouching next to me, using his leg to brace the rifle as he fires.  Another Taurean.  There are so many.  Too many.  For every one we fell, three more appear.  We keep shooting.  Another.  Another.  Another.  My leg goes out from under me and I don’t even know why.  I shoot as I fall and try to get back up but my leg won’t respond.  I keep shooting, prone.  I can no longer hear Drake’s rifle.  Another.  Another.  Why am I cold?  I’m Andorian.  We can lie in the snow and be comfortable.  Another.  The sun starts to set, I think.  It’s getting dark.  Another.  My phaser stops shooting.  It’s getting darker.  And colder.  So many.  So many._

_***_

           “Lights,” croaked Tarsi.  She had been sitting in her bed for several minutes before she found her voice, cold sweat coating her skin and her vest clinging wetly to her back and chest.  Her room slowly flooded with a gentle, bluish-white light and she sat there unmoving for several more moments.

            “It didn’t happen like that,” she reminded herself, her voice on the verge of cracking.  “I am alive.  I am Lieutenant Commander Tarsi zh’Enis and I am the First Officer of the USS Trent, and I am alive.”  Tarsi looked confused for a moment, then shook her head to clear it.  “Commander and on the Wakefield,” she corrected herself, then sighed.  She stared at the door out of her room for a long while, unblinking.  Eventually she turned and stood from her bed, then walked over to her medication nook and sat down next to the low table with its large IDIC statuette.  It was one of the few personal items she’d unpacked since coming aboard.  She sat cross-legged, a little stiffly, and stared at the IDIC, focussing on the gem at the top of the pyramid.  After some time, she closed her eyes and focussed instead on her breathing.

***

            Tarsi whistled to herself as she walked briskly down the corridor towards Ambassador T’Las’s quarters.  The _Wakefield_ was nothing short of amazing – she not even seen half of the facilities it had to offer but what she had seen so far was a massive step up from the _Trent_.  In fairness, their old _Centaur-_ class light cruiser wasn’t exactly a piece of junk, but it was a much older model than the _Comet_ -class _Wakefield_ and had been built during an extended period of warfare, where practicality and resource limitations necessitated a more spartan design.  The _Wakefield_ , on the other hand, had been built for quieter parts of the galaxy, and its recent refit had been commissioned with the comfort and needs of the crew as a priority.  Her shower was _glorious_.  She was also looking forward to giving the holosuites a try, but that would have to wait until they had all settled in and she could afford some downtime.

            Reaching the Romulan ambassador’s room, she thumbed the intercom button and then waited for the reply.

            “Yes?”  The admiral sounded sleepy; _strange_ , thought Tarsi, _she didn’t seem the sort to take naps_.

            “Commander Tarsi, Ambassador.  Here to formally welcome you aboard and introduce you to the senior crew.”  There was an extended pause before T’Las replied again.

            “Okay.  Give me five minutes.”

            “Affirmative,” replied Tarsi, then closed the channel.  Perhaps the ambassador had been celebrating last night and it had finally caught up with her.  Tarsi decided to go over the remaining applicants and recommendations while she waited – the major postings had all been filled but there were still plenty of cadet records to check and some more xenology spots to fill.  Though the latter were largely being left to Yao and Osennkca to sort out between them, with Tarsi just needing to sign off on the candidates they selected.  She paused, realising something – she was an Executive Officer on a ship with a crew of over three hundred, and that meant she was eligible to have a personal assistant.  _That would have saved a lot of time and effort if I’d realised that_ before _I started arranging all these cadet interviews_ , she thought.  For no apparent reason a Klingon cadet’s name caught her eye; she brought up his profile.  Kerlaa, a Klingon graduate from Starfleet Academy; excellent grades, and a holoprogrammer who earned himself quite the reputation at the Academy.  _That could come in handy_ , she thought to herself as she made a note to invite him over for an interview.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting.”  Tarsi stood straight with a start as the Romulan ambassador emerged from her quarters; she hadn’t even heard the door open.

            “Not a problem, ma’am.  Ready to meet the _Wakefield’s_ staff officers?”  The lights were off in the ambassador’s room, but Tarsi fancied she saw a couple of shadows moving in the darkness.  _Well, that explains the nap!_

            “Raring to go, Commander.”  She smiled at the Andorian and then fell into step as the two turned to head off towards the turbolifts.  “You’ve served under Capt. Stephenson since his first command, correct?” enquired T’Las, already knowing the answer but preferring small talk to walking in awkward silence.

            “Before that; he was appointed XO on a vessel I was 2nd officer on, the USS _Atabeira_.”

            T’Las nodded, “All those years serving under him.  You must know him very well.”

            “I’d like to think I know him better than anyone else.  Certainly, we have a very strong understanding of each other.”

            “That’s good.  It’s important for a CO and their XO to have a bond.  Arguably the most important relationship on a ship." They arrived at the lift, and Tarsi tapped the call button.  "I spent my entire career in command with the same XO, a fellow Romulan that I’d known just about my whole adult life.  I can’t count how many times that bond, the instinctive understanding of each other, saved our arses in a crisis.”  Tarsi nodded and gave a grunt of agreement but chose not to say anything.  T'las looked askance at her and was considering a gently probing follow-up when the turbolift arrived and its doors opened to admit them.  As the two women stepped into the lift, T'Las decided to take a blunter approach and asked a question with all the subtlety of a drunken Klingon.  "So, tell me about Taurus IV."  She saw the Andorian stiffen, and almost felt the emotional recoil it was so strong.

            "Rescue mission to pick up some stranded scientists.  Things ran hot before we even landed, but Drake got us all out of there alive."  She stared straight ahead as she answered, gaze focussed firmly on the lift doors.  T'Las watched her carefully and decided not to press any further.  For now, at least.

            "So, only a handful of the officers I'm about to meet are new to you, as well?"  Tarsi visibly relaxed as T'Las switched topics, but still remained a little tense after that bolt form the blue.

            "Yes.  Cdr Skavrin served with Capt. Stephenson and I aboard the  _Atabeira_ , while Cdr T'Met and Lt Cdr joined us not long after our transfer to the  _Trent_.  Lieutenant Commanders Glihd, Vukarno, Fletcher, and Isgur are new both to us and the  _Wakefield_."

            "Vukarno... that name is familiar for some reason."  The ridges of her brow furrowed as she tried to recall where she's seen or heard the name, only for the turbolift to announce they had arrived at the ship's bridge.  "Ah well, it will come to me later," she conceded.  T’Las walked out onto the bridge and smiled at the assembled officers; having been forewarned by Tarsi, they were all standing to attention, but held back on saluting. 

            “Ambassador T’Las, these are the staff officers of the USS _Wakefield_ ,” announced Tarsi as she followed T'las out of the lift and stepped to one side to introduce the officers.  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ambassador T’Las, Legate of the Romulan Republic and Admiral of the Romulan Republican Force.  She has been seconded to the _Wakefield_ as the head of its diplomatic mission.”

            “At ease, folks,” said T’Las in a relaxed tone of voice.  “This isn’t a formal inspection or anything, so you don’t need to stand to attention.”

            “This is Commander Skavrin – the _Wakefield_ ’s Head of Engineering, and its Second Officer,” Tarsi introduced a squat Tellarite, who gruffly cleared his throat and gave a nod of greeting to the Admiral.

            “I have read about the success of your diplomatic efforts on Edren IV, Commander,” commented T’Las, “though I could not find any direct transcripts of what you actually said to convince both the Gorn and Federation expedition leaders to agree.”

            “No loss, Ambassador, it was all very dry diplomatic talk anyway,” replied the Tellarite, looking both sheepish and also relieved at the same time.

            “’Pull your fat heads out of your even fatter arses and realise this is a deal that benefits all, and harms none’ was one of my favourite quotes from your captain.”  The Romulan grinned.

            Skavrin’s cheek flushed a little but a smile spread across his face, “Like I said, very dry diplomatic talk, Ambassador.”  T’Las chuckled with good humour before moving on to the next officer.

            “Our Chief Medical Officer and Third Officer aboard the _Wakefield_ , Commander T’Met,” continued Tarsi, doing her best to keep a straight face and introducing a long-haired Vulcan woman.

            The Vulcan gave a short bow, “An honour to meet you, Ambassador.”

            “Likewise, Commander.  I imagine the _Wakefield_ is a far cry from Deep Space K-13.”

            “Considerably less parasites, Ambassador,” replied T’met, smiling cordially.  The next officer in the line was a pale violet-skinned Bolian woman who looked like – and gave the general impression – that she could and would lift T’Las over her head if challenged to.

            “This is Lieutenant Commander Gorret Glihd, my replacement as Chief Tactical Officer,” said Tarsi.

            “As well as being a former chief conn, and a gunnery officer, I’m given to understand that you are proficient in no less than three distinct martial art forms?” asked T’Las; the Bolian nodded in reply.  “You know an impressive number of ways of hurting people, Lieutenant Commander,” remarked T’Las, to which Glihd smiled with pride.  The Orion standing next to her looked like he should be off hunting game across the savannahs of 19th century Earth, with his immaculately waxed moustache and beard.

            “Lieutenant Commander Vukarno, Chief Security Officer,” Tarsi announced.

            “Ma’am,” said Vukarno, already standing firmly to attention but stiffening up further as the Romulan approached him.

            “Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Commander.  I understand you speak _Rihannsu?”_

 _“Khiilalev, ihhai,”_ confirmed the security officer.  _“Rhanne lokhos lohia, ihhai.”_

 _“Emael fvakh, Enarrain,”_ replied T’Las, a smile on her face.  Vukarno nodded as the Ambassador continued down the line, where Tarsi introduced her to a young Reman woman.

            “Lieutenant Commander Ekish, Chief Operations Officer.  Lt. Ekish was one of the Academy’s youngest graduates.  Like Dr. T’Met, she was also assigned to DS K-13.”

            “From where I was rescued by Capt. Stephenson and Cdr Tarsi!” exclaimed Ekish.  “In more ways than one, actually.  See, we had an infestation of neural parasites and T’Met, that is, Dr. T’Met, or ‘Commander’ T’Met, I suppose, helped guide the Captain to engineering after they rescued her from-,”

            “I’m sure the Admiral has read the report, Lieutenant,” interrupted Tarsi.

            “Right, yes, sorry!” said Ekish, somewhat breathlessly.  “Honour to meet you, Admiral – oh, er, _Ambassador!”_   She reached her hand out to shake the Romulan’s, then seemed to realise she was breaching protocol and turned the gesture into an awkward salute.  T’Las responded by lightly patting her on the shoulder.

            “I have read the report, and between that and the rest of your career record I can see why you’re already Head of Operations on such a reputable ship.”  Lt. Ekish grinned broadly and seemed about to speak again before being silenced by a look from her superior.

            “ _Lieutenant Commander Yao_ ,” said Tarsi very firmly, “Chief Science Officer.”

            “Winner of not one, but _two_ Cochrane Medals of Excellence, I understand.  Well done, Lieutenant Commander.”  Yao smiled graciously at T’Las’s praise and gave a small bow.  The officer next to him was a tall, lean Saurian, whose eyes darted around the room as if he were tracking the progress of a particularly energetic fly.

            “Lieutenant Commander Osennkca, who will be the chief officer of our newly-established Xenology lab,” said Tarsi.

            “Oh, Ambassador, hello!” blurted the Saurian, giving a toothless smile.

            “Back at you, Lieutenant Commander.  I am given to understand that you know more about Gorn mating rituals than most Gorn do.”

            “Oh yes, quite possibly!” he nodded eagerly.  “If it’s an area of interest to you, please to feel free to collar me about it anytime!”

            “I shall bear that in mind, Mr Osennkca,” T’Las replied diplomatically.

            “Lieutenant Commander Isgur, Ship’s Counsellor,” continued Tarsi, as they reached the penultimate officer in the line-up.

            “My sympathies, Lieutenant Commander, I suspect you are going to be very, very busy on this ship.”  The Betazoid laughed warmly, then shook her head.

            “Oh, I know, Ambassador, but I don’t mind.  In fact, I’m counting on it.”

            “Oh?”

            “The Lieutenant Commander is undertaking a thesis for her second doctorate,” answered Tarsi. 

            Isgur gave a small nod.  “Interspecial relations and the effect on the psyche,” she added.

            “I see,” said T’Las, smiling.  “Well, be sure to send me a copy when it’s done.  Between that and our resident author’s work-in-progress, I look forward to having a comprehensive list of which species never to have sex with.”  The three women shared a laugh before Tarsi introduced the Ambassador to the final officer on the bridge.

            “And this is Lieutenant VanZyl, our Chief Intelligence Officer.”

            “Ah yes, Lt VanZyl.  How is the Gamma Quadrant at the moment?” T’Las asked, referring to VanZyl’s official transfer.

            “I’m currently enjoying an unhindered view of the Chamra Vortex, Ambassador.  It’s quite breath-taking.”

            “So, I hear!”  T’Las smiled broadly and then took a couple of steps back as Tarsi prepared to address the assembled officers.

            “To avoid any confusion, for the purpose of this mission Ambassador T’Las is just that – an ambassador.  She does not hold any military rank within the Federation and is a foreign dignitary aboard our ship as part of a joint diplomatic effort.  That means that while you do not have to salute her, you also do not get to order her around and must treat her with the respect that a high-ranking member of an allied power deserves.  Remember that without Ambassador T’Las’s efforts, the Romulan Republic might still be just a handful of rebels and idealists, and not the respected power that it is.”

            “It also means that you can buy me drinks without it being considered a bribe, and that you can fraternise with me _as much as you like_ ,” added the Romulan, with a wink.  “Oh, and for the record I prefer Andorian ale to Romulan.”  There was a murmur of gentle laughter from the officers before her.  “Joking aside, however, it is an honour to meet such a fine, diverse crew, and I look forward to working with you to help bring the Federation and Romulan Republic – and, indeed, everyone else in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants – closer together.  We have a real chance to make lasting change in the galaxy, and I am confident that you are the officers for the job.”  Every one of the staff officers stood a little straighter at her words.  “ _Jolan tru_ , everyone,” said T’Las as she saluted the gathered officers.  They replied in kind, and T’Las smiled before turning and leaving the bridge. 

##  Act V – The Grand Tour

Day -1

The bridge of any vessel was normally one of the busiest areas on the ship, but today the _USS Wakefield_ ’s bridge was more crowded than normal, with over twenty first-year cadets aboard.  They chattered excitedly amongst themselves, their eyes darting around the room and their attention grabbed and re-grabbed by every flashing light or changing display.  For most of the cadets, this was the first time they had been on the bridge of a real ship, and for some it was the first time they had even been on a ship at all. With the ship docked, the crew that would ordinarily be present were elsewhere, and it was just the _Wakefield_ ’s first officer, Cdr. Tarsi, who was there to keep the young cadets in check and help them to resist the urge to touch anything.

            “Captain on deck!” announced Tarsi as she saw the turbolift doors open and snapped sharply to attention, ripping off a crisp salute as the _Wakefield_ ’s commanding officer emerged from the lift.  The assembled cadets before her followed suit, with varying levels of success.  Dressed in his formal long coat, Capt. Stephenson marched onto the bridge, followed by three other officers in their smartest service uniform.

            “Cadets,” started the captain, before having to bite back laughter as he looked at them.  “Well I just hope your grades are coming along better than your saluting!  At ease everyone, please.”  He smiled genially at the now somewhat embarrassed cadets and spread his arms.  “Welcome aboard the _USS Wakefield_.  We are a _Comet_ -class RSV – that’s ‘Reconnaissance Science Vessel’ – and we are tasked with undertaking a variety of scientific, diplomatic, and exploratory missions on behalf of Starfleet.  You have already met my second-in-command and the _Wakefield_ ’s Executive Officer, Commander Tarsi zh’Enis,” the Andorian officer on his right smiled at the cadets as Drake introduced the rest of the senior officers.  “To my left is our Deputy Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Jila Tele…,” he said, gesturing to the Cardassian woman next to him, “Chief Medical Officer, Commander T’Met…,” the Vulcan nodded as she was introduced, while Drake continued to introduce the Human at the end of the short line “and Chief Science Officer, Lieutenant Commander Solomon Yao.  Today, we will be giving you a tour of the ship so that you can see first-hand some of the equipment and facilities that you might come into contact with during your career as a Starfleet officer, whilst also giving you a taste of what life on-board a ship is like.”

“Now, of course,” he continued, “not everyone here will end up on a ship.  Some of you may decide your career lies elsewhere – perhaps you will stay on Earth and work at Starfleet Headquarters or in the Academy, helping to shape and direct the Federation; or maybe you will find your calling on a Deep Space station, conducting vital scientific research.  Wherever your career takes you, know that no job within Starfleet is inferior to another, and that all will in some way help Starfleet, the Federation, and the galaxy as a whole.”  A hand went up, “Yes, cadet?”

            “Sir is it true that only command officers can be captains of a vessel?”

            “What’s your name, cadet?”

            “Telian, sir,” replied the Andorian.

            “Well, Cadet Telian, the simple answer is ‘no’.  Officers of any career path can rise to have command of their own ship.  While it is more common for officers from a command background to become captains, that is simply because the Bridge Command qualification forms an optional part of their third- and fourth-year studies, so many are already qualified for captaincy by the time they graduate.   Officers of the other career paths will be required to either take additional modules during their studies, or separately qualify post-graduation.  Indeed, Lt. Cdr. Jile Tele here previously had command of the USS Cairo-B for several years before transferring here.”  Another hand was raised; Capt. Stephenson nodded and gestured for them to speak.

            “Sir, Cadet Deral, sir.  A question for Lt. Cdr. Tele, sir.”  Another nod, so he turned to address the Cardassian officer.  “Why did you transfer from being a commanding officer to a deputy department head, ma’am?  Um, if that’s not an improper question.”

            “It’s fine, cadet,” replied Jila Tele, giving a relaxed smile.  “Long story short, I decided command just wasn’t for me.  Too much strategizing, not enough action.  I’m a do-er, not a planner, and I prefer to get stuck in and get my hands dirty.  It’s part of why I chose engineering in the first place, and I found being in command took me away from that far more than I was comfortable with.  I was also drawn by the prospect of working under Capt. Stephenson, having heard about him as far back as my time at the Academy.”

            “You’re making me sound old, Jila!” complained her captain, feigning a pained expression.

            “Sorry sir!” replied the engineer, grinning.  “I should clarify that Capt. Stephenson was only a lieutenant when I first heard of him; he’s not that old, really.”  There was some sniggering from the cadets

            “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander,” Drake’s tone was playfully admonishing.  “Now, we will be splitting you cadets up into groups, depending on your chosen career path, to make sure you each get a tour relevant to you.  Before we do that, however, does anyone have any more general questions?”

            “Cadet Lawrenson, sir.  Sir how long would a ship be in space for, between docks?” asked a young woman, one of only two humans in the group of cadets.

            “It depends on the mission, cadet.  It could be months, it could be years.”  He shrugged lightly, “It could even be days or weeks if you’re on a routine mission here in the Sol Sector.  Or the ‘Vulcan’ Sector, if you’re Vulcan,” he added, for the benefit of the Vulcan cadets in the group, one of whom had been starting to raise his hand.

            “Sir, Cadet Tyr.  Will we be able to use the holodecks while we’re here, sir?”  Asked another Andorian cadet.

            “I suppose if there’s time we can run a quick program.  Why, did you have something particular in mind, Cadet?”

            “Oh, um, no sir, I just heard that ship holodecks were a lot more powerful than the Academy ones, particularly _this_ ship’s.”

            “That much is certainly true – the _Wakefield_ has state-of-the-art holosuites, and they will be absolutely invaluable to our new mission,” stated Drake, with a measure of pride.

            “What is that mission?” continued the cadet, before quickly adding, “Sir?”

            “Classified, cadet,” Tarsi interjected.  “Diplomatic and scientific research, and that’s all you’re cleared to know.”  Cadet Tyr nodded, her cheeks flushing to a light violet.

            “Any more questions?”  Drake looked the cadets over – there was a general shaking of heads and mumblings to the effect of ‘No’.  “Right, cadets on the command career path, you will be going with Cdr.  Tarsi.  Operations cadets, please follow Lt. Cdr. Tele.  Medical with Cdr. T’Met, and science cadets with Lt. Yao.”  The cadets began talking amongst themselves as they moved over to the relevant officer, with all except the command students then heading over to the turbolifts.

 

[UNFINISHED]

 

##  Epilogue

Day 0

[RUN THROUGH AND CONTINUE – 2-3 PAGES TOTAL]

“Captain, we have clearance to leave Earth Spacedock,” announced the bridge’s communications officer.  She, and the rest of the officers present, turned their heads to look expectantly at their captain.

“Roger that, Miss T’Vrell.”  Capt. Stephenson nodded emphatically before calling down to one of the two officers in front of him, “Mr Jenro, take us out.”

“Yes, sir!” replied the Cardassian conn officer, clearly quite happy to do just that as he started swiping and tapping at his console.  “Docking clamp disengaged…  Impulse engines online…,” there was the barest sense of motion as the inertial dampers automatically kicked in, and then the viewscreen showed the exit from the Spacedock slowly growing larger as they began to head towards it.  “And we’re underway, Captain.”

“Roger that, Mr Jenro.  Keep us steady and let me know when we’re good to go to warp.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

 

 

[UNFINISHED]


End file.
